


fragments

by nefertiti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, Bathing/Washing, Battle, Birthday, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Era, Canon Temporary Character Death, Children of Characters, Cousin Incest, Cousins, Cute Kids, Death, Desire, Double Drabble, Drabble, F/M, Female Jon Snow, Ficlet, First Dates, Fluff and Crack, Forbidden Love, Gen Work, Genderswap, Growing Old Together, Heartbreak, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt No Comfort, Incest, Jealousy, King Jon Snow, Lazy Mornings, Light Angst, Makeover, Making Out, Making Up, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Kink, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Nursing, Old Married Couple, Original Child Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Daenerys, POV Original Character, POV Outsider, POV Sansa, Painplay, Pillow Talk, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Battle, Pre-Canon, Queen Arya, Rating May Change, Reunions, Rule 63, Schmoop, Secret Relationship, Seduction, Sexual Content, Sharing Clothes, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sickfic, Sister-Sister Relationship, The Battle for the Dawn, Walks In The Woods, Watching Someone Sleep, Wax Play, Weddings, impromptu wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-27 22:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: A 30 day drabble challenge focused on Jon/Arya.





	1. lost

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1: Getting lost together

“Gods be true, Jon,” came an exasperated voice from behind a large redwood. “You don’t know where we are.”

“I thought you liked adventure,” Jon huffed. 

The clearing filled with roses, blossoms and evergreens was somewhere close. He and Robb had found it on a hunting trip with Loras Tyrell and he knew Arya – his wildflower girl – would love it. She had snuck out of her septa's lessons just to see it. 

If only he could find it.

“There is no adventure to be found in Highgarden,” Arya said laughingly as she flicked her muddied skirts. 

“Not if you do not consider your sister's wedding to its heir an adventure.”

Arya made a face as though she sucked a lemon and Jon laughed. Arya had no inclinations towards marriage, not unless it would be _his_ cloak placed over her shoulders. 

It was a dizzying thought, marriage, but it was all he could think of. For Arya to be his alone. Jon pressed her against the tree, tangling his legs between hers.

“Cousin,” she breathed. “We will be found.” 

Jon kissed her sweetly, desperately. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, nipping at her jaw.

Her eyes blazed, “Never stop.”

 


	2. aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Pet names

His hair was dark and bloody and his long face solemn, like hers. Arya did not wish to look upon his eyes. Jon was the other half of her and she did not wish to see her reflection in the grey pools of his eyes. 

An orange glow spread slowly through the sky; a victory. The living flinched against the soft light. 

It had been dark for so long. 

They had won. But they lost so much to do so. 

Arya felt a weariness that went past her skin, her flesh, her bones to something deep inside her. She felt like she might be weary forever. That, she realised, was what she feared to see in her brother’s (for he would _always_ be her brother) eyes. His sharp, grey eyes that held sadness and steel, that had seen so much. Like hers. She did not want to see this too. 

Arya braced herself. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ His arms came around her before he could meet his gaze. She felt his lips brush her forehead. 

“Little wolf,” he murmured.

The wolves of the North – of Winterfell, had won the true war; the hope for kinder days now within reach. 


	3. worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3: Patching each other up

Arya tutted as she brushed a salve on his hands. It was almost as if this were not her fault too. It was their twisted desire for one another, true, but she chose the place that night. It was important to her so he gave it freely.

He’d taken her up against a large oak in the godswood. And again on the mossy ground. He loved her with his mouth and his hands before he let her take charge the last time.

It was she who wanted to love him before the gods and in a wild moment of passion he had gripped onto a jagged stone as she sank onto his manhood, soaking wet and maddeningly tight. 

She did not seem to care that her leathers were torn and her knees bruised but when she caught sight of his bloody hand, she grinned. 

“It’s only fair,” she teased. “I bled for you once.” 

She had still dragged him to her chambers to put some strange concoction she had mixed onto his palm and wrap his hand tight with white cloth. 

“You have to keep the bandages dry,” she bit her lip. “And ...”

“ _Don’t tell Sansa_!” they said it together. 


	4. vigil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: Hospital visits

Jon still looked dead, laying on the stone slab. Arya inhaled sharply. She could not bear it if she lost him too. 

Melisandre said he would wake within the hour but Arya needed to be certain. The red woman had never done this before. Not like Thoros. 

For a moment Arya wished Thoros had journeyed North with her but then she thought of what he let happen to her mother and she was as angry as she was sad. 

Melisandre promised that it wouldn’t happen to her brother. Jon would not awaken cold and cruel, he would not forget her. He was a warg, the red witch said, like Arya. That would save him in a way that could not save her mother.

Jon looked so different. Was it death that changed him so? His skin was pale but it was always so, though not quite so ashen. 

He wouldn’t be like this forever, she reminded herself. Jon had to wake. Never mind that her hands were already bloodied from avenging his death. Justice for their mutiny. She would sit watch until she saw those grey eyes she loved so much looking back at her. It was all she needed. 


	5. scarred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: Scar worship

The lines on his chest were a deep red, outlined only by a sliver of silver. Ugly scars. Marks of betrayal. 

Jon had never wanted Arya to see them again. He remembered how it was to see her when he'd had awoken from the flames. She had clung to him, inconsolable. Her fingers touched his scars, still fresh, and drew away just as hastily. She seemed ill just looking at them.

When they became whatever it is that they became, he had always kept a tunic on when they made love. 

Until now.

When dawn broke early morn, Arya entered his chambers in Winterfell and made quick work of their clothes. 

He did not think to feel so exposed. He’d had each her in so many ways, explored every inch of her, kissed every pale scar but this here was undiscovered territory.

Jon’s body was alight and his skin enflamed by her lips and soft strokes; he was not yet in her and it felt like so much more. He ached with need. He tugged her shoulders. He had to have her.

He thought he heard the faint whisper of _“I’m sorry”_ as she finally pressed her lips against his.


	6. jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6: Making fun of each other
> 
> A sequel to chapter one

Lady Margaery was beautiful, clever and fun. Arya enjoyed her. She would enjoy the little rose more if she would keep her thorns out of Jon's skin. 

Thorns wound, they do not grasp. 

Arya’s family were given seats of honour on the dais and Lady Margaery flirted and gently touched, oh never out of the bounds of propriety of course, but Jon was a prince. It was not on accident that Jon was seated next to her whenever the chance arose. 

It was also no accident that Arya pulled him into an alcove after supper and kissed him thoroughly.

“Are you jealous?” Jon teased as she busied herself with the laces on his jerkin.

“I have no reason to be.” Arya replied, tartly. “Even if you do puff up like a fish when she flatters you.”

“If you had claws you would have scratched Lady Margaery's face off by now,” said Jon happily. 

It was true. She did not fear losing him ... to anyone truly, but she did not like others touching what was hers.

“You are mine, Jon,” kissed his neck not caring if she left a bruise. “Just as I am yours. Even if only we know it.”


	7. domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7: Sleeping in

It wasn’t the sun that woke him, nor the cold from the open window but the lazy kisses being placed on his face by his lady wife – his queen. 

Would that he were awoken like this daily. Arya had been in a sour mood of late. She was large with child and bedridden for it by order of Maester Sam. His wild wolf needed movement and she missed the time spent with their children. 

“Stay with me, my king,” she asked, her nose to his cheek.

“You are in good humour,” said Jon.

He furrowed his brow, thinking of all he had to do. Lord Manderly would arrive by midday to beg audience, the steward knew what was to be done but it was wiser that he oversaw. 

As King, there was always something to be done and something else after that. Yet one look at Arya; pale skin kissed with pink, brown hair dishevelled from sleep, eyes grey and yearning – a pretty sight. 

He put his hand on her swollen belly. His seed strong inside. She placed her hand over his and he drew nearer, kissing the side of her neck.

Duty beckoned but her arms were far sweeter. 


	8. warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #8: Hugging

In this never ending night where the wind blistered, the snow poured, and blue eyes glowed their beacon of death, Arya felt no fear. Not when there were warm arms were wrapped around her and the familiar scent of her brother was strong under her nose. His hand, buried in her hair, stroked her gently.

Arya tugged at Jon’s furs, drawing him closer – pressed against him so tight not even the thinnest blade could separate them. If she could she would burrow herself beneath his skin and pity the man who tried to separate them.

“It will be warmer one day little sister,” whispered Jon, though it sounded a shout in a night so silent but for the groans of the wounded. 

Jon thought the reason she clung to him as they shivered in their tent was because she was cold. He burned like a furnace but that was only a benefit; nearness was her true goal.

“Do not die this time,” she said.

She could hear the urgency in his voice as he replied, 

“Nor you.”

“I will be here for as long as you are.” Arya vowed. 

For it was only in his arms that she was home.


	9. loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9: A death of someone close

A howl of agony sliced through his heart, to the very core of him. The sound staggered him, his head spun and he felt himself drift. For a moment Jon saw nothing but a fog before his eyes, dark and endless. 

It took a moment for him to feel the frantic hands pressing on his skin, his face, his chest, his neck. He did not even notice that Arya had entered his solar.

“Jon,” said Arya, worry evident by the tremor in her voice. “Shall I fetch the maester?”

It was only when he tried to speak the he understood. He had been screaming too. 

The only word that left his mouth was, “Ghost.”

Understanding settled in grey eyes and something akin to pity. Or was it sorrow? He could not think for the ache in his chest – like as something was ripped from him.

Jon didn’t know when Arya sat at his side or put her arms around him but he let himself get lost in her embrace and the soothing circles she rubbed into his back, grateful that she did not speak a word.

What can one say when the very half of one’s own soul has died?


	10. sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10: Watching each other sleep

Arya moved in her sleep, twisting and turning and tossing her head; she only gentled in his arms – a wild thing, even as she slept.

With her hair tangled and messy, and dark lashes fluttering against smooth, pale skin she looked even more the wild beauty that people whisper was Lyanna Stark reborn. 

His mother was beautiful and highborn like he had dreamed but Jon doubted that she was anything like Arya. Dangerous, deadly and she was _his_.

Jon brushed dark hair from Arya’s forehead, content to just look upon her. Had any man ever loved a woman this much?

 

* * *

 

Jon slept like the dead. It frightened Arya at first. She had put her palm to his mouth the first night she spent with him since returning home, the warm puff of breath from his mouth bringing her more comfort than she would have thought possible. 

He had died once. _My fault_ , a voice whispered. _He should not have tried to save the girl who was not me._

But he was Jon. Her Jon. And for her he would break any vow. It was the same for her.

There was little Arya would not do for the love of him.


	11. intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #11: Wearing each other's clothes

“Arya, we must talk,” said Jon. 

“Of what?” asked Arya, straddling his waist.

It had been weeks since they had started this thing  between them and they had yet to discuss what it meant. A part of Jon did not want to. Not if it meant that this would have to end. Not if he would have to stop dining at the sweetness between her thighs. Not if he could never feel her sheathed so tightly around his manhood. Not if he would no longer listen to her steady breaths as her head rested on his chest.

But if he did not bring it up, then neither would she and they could not _both_ afford to be reckless. 

Yet gazing upon her – her wearing only his tunic, the grey linen hanging loose on her frame, he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and have her again.

Jon toyed with the edge of his tunic. There was something proprietary about Arya garbed in his clothes. He could not cloak her ... but this, it was their own secret marriage – wolf to wolf. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” was all he could say.

 “You never will,” she replied. 


	12. shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12: In battle, side by side

Jon was swift. He always was. That was the first thing Arya noticed as she spotted him across the field of white. He was fast but she was faster and small to boot. It was nothing for her to duck between the legs of a soldier and thrust her blade into the back of a wight. 

The dead thing fell. Ice on snow. She did not see the light fade from unnatural blue eyes.

Dragon flame was all that brought light. And the fire of Jon’s sword. Arya saw without using her eyes but others struggled. She heard them. More than one man had fallen to the blades of a friend.

Wordlessly Arya twirled to Jon’s side, not asking for reassurances – that he was unhurt, that they would survive this. He lived. His eyes were grey. He breathed frigid air, his breath turning to mist in the black of night. It was enough for her. She wouldn’t let Jon die and she trusted him to watch her back.

A deep howl in the midst of battle brought a grim smile to her lips. The other wolves followed their leader in song. It was deafening. Nymeria would protect them both too. 


	13. movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #13: Dancing

Jon had heard stories of his formidable sister but never had he seen it in action. She led wolves and outlaws both to the North. The outlaws – the Brotherhood – were hard and harsh men, capable of unspeakable ills. Jon could see it in their eyes. Yet they looked to Arya as their leader. Just as the wolves looked to Nymeria.

A warg does not bond to a wolf on accident. 

Today Jon watched her. Blindfold on, she had asked him to place straw targets all over the training yard and then she set to work, hitting each dummy with clear precision.

She was balanced on the tip of her toe. How she spun around without breaking a toe was beyond his understanding. 

She slashed at the dummy to her side with Needle. _Stick ‘em with the pointy end_. And then the one behind her before taking the blindfold off.

Arya grinned at him.

“See,” she was more than a little smug. “I can fight.”

Jon was impressed. That did not mean that he wanted his little sister – _cousin_ in the middle of this war. 

“You will stay in Winterfell with Rickon.”

Better she was wroth with him and still breathing.


	14. tryst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14: First Date

Wind in her hair and astride a grey stallion, she raced through the wolfswood with Jon just a little ahead of her.

He was her only match at Winterfell. Sansa hated riding, Bran could not ride at too fast a pace and Rickon was only just learning how. But even before –  everything, Jon was always her fiercest competition. He rode like a northman. 

As did she but Arya was not competing now. She slowed to a halt, dismounting.

“Here, sister?” Jon asked curiously, from atop his own black stallion. 

She had dragged him from his solar before the dawn broke, packing some hotcakes, lemon tarts, a chunk of black bread, some honeycomb and two wineskins from the kitchens. She was prepared.

As Jon’s feet touched the ground Arya darted to his side. 

They tied the horses in silence. It was nice to be alone with him, away from curious eyes and judgemental gazes. To just be. 

She kissed his cheek quickly,

“I’ve always liked this stream by the thickets,” she pointed. 

Jon nodded, noncommittally.

“Shall you tell me why we are here?” asked Jon finally.

“I wanted us to spend the day with you,” she smiled, shyly. “Away from duty.”


	15. kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15: Making out
> 
> A continuation of the previous chapter

“Kiss me,” came a voice from behind him.

Arya was lain on his cloak, her hair fanned out and her eyes shut. 

Jon smiled. 

“Where?” he teased

She patted her lips with two fingers. Only a subtle quirk of the lips told him that she was amused. 

He gave her a sweet kiss, slow and gentle. It would not be enough for her, Jon knew. His wild, impatient girl. Especially now with their babe in her belly. She bit at his lip in an attempt to pry his mouth open but he resisted. 

 _Soon_.

Jon left pecks on soft, pink lips. His tongue darted out, tasting the wine from her mouth. 

She was a temptation; a sweet distraction, and he was mad for her. His desire to devour her was strong. Jon had to taste her before he was overcome. 

His tongue delved between her mouth and he swallowed her soft sigh. 

He was on top of her now; her hands scrambled at his back as he kissed her deeply.

He reluctantly pulled away, gasping for air.

“Would that we could be like this always,” Arya breathed.

Her warm breath made him shiver and he possessed her lips once more.


	16. care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16: One of them is sick

Arya dipped a damp rag into the bowl of water beside the bed and mopped her brother’s forehead. 

Maester Sam insisted that his fever would pass but Arya worried. She could not lose him. She would not bear it. The family needed him. _She_ needed him.

Jon murmured something in his sleep and Arya breathed a sigh of relief. Feverish mumbling was a sign of life.

She heard the door open and the quick but heavy footfalls of Samwell Tarly. 

“Princess Arya, you have been here for three days,” he said, hesitant. “You need fresh air and rest.”

“I will leave when he is well,” she replied.

She had stood vigil for longer. 

Arya did not look at Sam but she could feel his worry.

“Princess Sansa said that I am to have the guards escort you from the king’s chambers if necessary.”

If it were another day she would be amused, both at the notion and Sam's nervousness.

“They are welcome to try.”

“My lady,” he pleaded. 

Jon shifted and they both heard a faint whisper leave his mouth.

Sam sighed. Jon’s whisper of her name tethered her even closer to his side and Arya knew Sam knew that.


	17. clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17: Washing something

They did not oft bathe together. They could not. It would not do for the King in the North to be seen bathing with his sister. 

Yet there were times, when the moon shone bright in the sky, that he would whisk Arya to the hot springs so they could bathe together. 

Jon loved exploring her body in the moonlight. Arya was even more alluring with beads of water pearling between her breasts. He would lick the drops from her skin as she held his manhood in her callused hands. 

They would make love beneath the stars, slow and leisured, unconcerned with the fear of discovery. The gods alone as their witness.

He’d had her on the bed of moss and stone tonight, twice, before she waded into the pools. Jon followed her, grabbing her by the waist. 

They didn’t need words. Arya’s eyes sparkled silver in the moon’s glow and he knew what she wanted.

Jon poured water over brown tresses and pale skin, washing the moss and dirt from her skin and his head bent to suck a bruise onto her shoulder.

On the morrow, they’d worry of all else. Tonight, she was his and he was hers.


	18. reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18: In a different style clothing

Dany had been awake with her advisors all night. An envoy from the Wall had arrived in Lys and begged audience with her. Tired though she may be, she was their rightful queen. These men from the Night’s Watch were her people and a queen ought to listen tirelessly to the needs of her people. 

The Stark girl insisted that she respect the men of the watch but Dany was no fool. As much respect as the wolf girl had for the watch, she longed for her brother more. Dany understood. She wanted family too.

In the fashion of Lys, Dany and Arya’s gowns of shimmering silk were cut to bare their bellies.

The men in their black furs stared at her, eyes lingering upon bare skin. All except one. This Lord Commander Snow’s eyes were on his sister and Dany was surprised to see the heat in them. 

 “Little sister,” he breathed. 

At those words, the cold, solemn wolf girl ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. Her brother caught her by the waist and held her tight 

Dany felt a pang of envy and thought of Viserys. Would that her own brother loved her so. 


	19. temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #19: Trying to seduce one another

Jon was weary. His bannermen were unruly. They disagreed on who should rule the North until Bran returned to his rightful place. There was no sign of rebellion but there was much dissent. 

The crown of winter sat uneasily on his head and winter had come. The long night approached and the dead with it. The time for these squabbles had passed. 

So lost in his thoughts was Jon that he near did not notice the slight figure atop his bed. It was only when she stood that she saw it was her – his little sister, wearing a woollen robe.

Arya shrugged the robe from her shoulders and Jon’s mouth went dry. She was wearing nothing underneath. 

“Come closer,” she said, silkily. 

Jon swallowed, thoughts of petty lords and silly bickering fled from his mind.

Arya never had to try to seduce him. Jon wanted her. He was always eager to make love to her, to feel her bare skin pressed against his and to sink into her wetness. 

He took quick strides towards Arya and gathered her in his arms. 

Jon nudged her back onto the bed and she bit her lip, gazing intently at him.

He needed this.


	20. wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #20: Getting married

She did not look like a bride. With dirty leathers, a soiled tunic, tangled hair and a sword at her hip, Arya felt more a street urchin than a bride. 

Yet in the middle of a war, where they could die any day, joining their lives together before the gods seemed only right. 

Maester Sam stood witness as they swore themselves before the heart tree. 

On her knees, Arya turned towards Jon and though he did not smile, she could see the joy in his eyes.

“You are mine now,” she said as Jon stole her words with a kiss. 

 

* * *

 

It was a strange and ominous wedding, on the dawn of war. Reckless and foolish though it may be, it was right. It had to be. 

Jon could not stop the pang of worry he felt in his chest. 

To secretly take his cousin as his bride in the castle where they were both raised as brother and sister, two nights before they left to fight the Others. Reckless.

Jon had lost her once before and lost himself too. Joining themselves before the gods and Sam was nothing to that. He would not lose her again.

“You are mine too.”


	21. aching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21: Arguing

Arya felt a fury mounting in her since the announcement. If it were anyone else she would have supported it. But it was Jon.

Her Jon. The Jon who used to muss her hair and kiss her forehead. The Jon who would laugh with her and hold her so warm and make her feel safe. The Jon who she gave her maidenhead to because she loved him, wanted him.

The Jon who just walked into her chambers with sad, grey eyes as she nursed a glass of Arbor Gold.

“You're marrying her,” she stated, glumly. 

“I have no choice, little wolf,” said Jon, pleadingly.

“You have a choice,” she shouted. “You could have chose _me_!”

“And send the North into disarray? Arya I need you to understand –”

Arya didn’t want to understand. All she wanted was for him to stop talking and to _leave her be._ She threw her goblet across the room.

The wine glass shattered across the wall and golden liquid seeped into the rugs.

It had the desired effect. Silence. There was only the sound of their breathing but Arya would swear to the gods that she could hear the sound of her heart ripping in half. 


	22. breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #22: Making up afterwards
> 
> A continuation of the previous chapter

It tore at Jon’s heart to see Arya in such pain. He had a duty to her. To see that her grey eyes never filled with anguished tears again. 

He cursed silently. The North was ravaged after the war, and unwilling to bend the knee. His aunt needed an alliance. She needed to bind the North to her so that no one else would seek to take her remaining six kingdoms.

Jon was certain that Bran knew of him and Arya. He seemed to know so much. His kingly cousin gave him a sad look as he made the suggestion that a son of Winterfell wed the queen.

Jon walked to Arya cautiously. If she wanted to catch him with the goblet, she would have. Her aim was impeccable.

Jon tried to hold Arya’s hand but she snatched it viciously from his grasp.

“Do you hate me,” he asked, defeated.

It would hurt but it would not surprise him if she did. He dishonoured her, took her last bit of innocence and now would not even wed her like they had both hoped. 

“That's the problem,” her fingers laced with his. A peace offering. “I don’t even know how to.”


	23. reassurances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #23: Cuddling somewhere

“Little sister,” Arya heard her brother’s amused call. “I know you’re in here.”

Arya wiped her eyes. Of course Jon would find her. She would oft hide in the hayloft when she didn’t want to be found.

_Stupid. It’s like you wanted him to find you._

“I'm here,” she sniffled, poking her head through a large tuft of hay. 

Jon burst into laughter at the sight of her. She supposed she would look silly with hay all over her messy hair and dirty face. Like a horse. Arya’s lower lip wobbled. She could not laugh with him and she did not want to cry again. Her eyes felt all grainy and dry.

“Do I look like a horse?” she blurted out. “Jeyne Poole said that I have a horsey face and Sansa thinks so too. They call me Arya Horseface now.”

Jon’s brows knitted together in a frown and Arya’s eyes welled with tears once more. Jon thought she was horsey too. 

Jon shuffled in next to her, getting hay all over his doublet, wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her tight as she nestled into his side.

“You, little sister, are far too pretty to ever be horsey.”


	24. expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #24: Cisswap

Joanna loved the snow – white, pure and blistering. Little Arya and Howland loved it too. Joanna watched as her children played in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other.

“I am to marry soon,” Arya said from her side. 

“Who?” she asked, willing her voice not to break. 

“Prince Trystane Martell,” said Arya, glumly.

Joanna knew that this day would come but it did not stop her chest from aching. Her little sister would marry a southron lord, it would be so far away and Arya’s visits would be few. 

Winterfell was not too far from Karhold. Arya came every few turns to spend time with her. But now ...

Joanna knew her husband would never be pleased with her as a wife. She was sullen, ill-at-ease with the trappings of being the Lady of Karhold. He did his nightly duty and not much else. Alys was a comfort; she liked Joanna well enough but it was not the same as blood. 

Arya wanted marriage even less than Joanna did. Joanna always knew her place, as much as she resented it. Arya wanted more from life than being a man's prize.

And though she had never said it, so did Joanna.


	25. birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #25: One of their birthdays
> 
> Modern AU

Arya spotted her cousin on the phone from a little walk away. She grinned, running up behind him and jumping on his back. 

“ _Oof_ ,” he grunted. “I'll call you back Robb, a grumkin just attacked me out of nowhere.”

“Arse,” Arya thumped him on the back. “You better take that back.”

“Of course,” Jon replied, solemnly, though she could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re a perfect, little princess.” 

Arya grimaced. That was _worse_. She had half a mind to hit him again but if she kept on he’d eventually end up calling her a precious ballerina in a poofy, pink tutu and then she’d be forced to punch him, which would be a shame because she really wanted to go to the Carnival and Jon had promised to take her. Plus, she didn’t _really_ want to punch him.

Arya swung from his back, still hanging around his neck and grinned, 

“Can we go now?”

“Where to?” asked Jon as if he didn’t already know. 

“To the Carnival,” she groaned, longsuffering. “I want to go on all the rides and eat cotton candy and pretzels until I puke.”

“Well,” Jon shrugged. “Whatever the name day girl wants, she’ll get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that this is the first Modern AU I did for this challenge.


	26. tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #26: Doing something ridiculous

Sansa couldn’t sleep. It was why she sought her sister. Winterfell had no maester and somewhere in her time in Braavos, Arya had learned to make dreamwine. 

Sansa heard breathless whispers from outside the doors and the low rumbling of a man’s laughter. _Jon_. She paused.

Sansa had spoken naught of her worry of the strangeness of Arya’s relationship with their bastard cousin but she still had her suspicions and she didn’t want to view anything that would make her want to expel the contents of her tummy ... yet she _did_ need sleep. Sansa knocked on the door. 

She heard Arya’s muffled reply, “Enter!”

What Sansa saw within indeed shocked her. Jon was sitting at Arya’s looking glass as her sister brushed something on his face.

“What are you two doing?” Sansa asked.

“I’m making him an old man.”

When Jon faced her, Sansa started. His face was almost the same, but he had a large cheek mole and there were deep wrinkles on his otherwise smooth face. With a cloak and hood she would almost mistake him for an old beggar.

Arya poked him to get his attention. Jon grinned. Sansa sighed. At least they made _each_ _other_ smile. 


	27. smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #27: Doing something sweet

Jon opened his eyes to see the smiling face of his little sister. He brushed a flop of hair from his eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice thick from sleep. 

Arya unceremoniously thrust a bunch of ragged flowers in his face. 

Jon sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and stared at her. 

She scrambled onto his bed not minding that she crushed the flowers a little beneath her palms. 

“You’ve been sad,” she said with a shrug.

And he had been. His lord father had taken Robb with him to White Harbour and they’d been gone for nigh on two weeks. He and Lady Stark kept out of each other’s way as she was busy with baby Bran but he still missed them. 

He now took his lessons with Theon Greyjoy and whispered japes with his brother became whispered mockery traded between him and Greyjoy.

“I don’t like when you’re sad.” Arya flung her skinny arms around his waist. “You’re not sad anymore are you?”

Jon could not help but smile. He plucked the flowers from her hands before she could do more damage and mussed her hair.

“Not while you are here, little sister.”


	28. burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #28: Doing something hot

Arya hissed as the candle wax dribbled over her breasts. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation but Jon narrowed his eyes at her. 

He still thought to shield her from pain. Arya would not have it. 

“Keep going,” she said through gritted teeth. 

Jon sighed as he spilled the wax from the candle on her belly. He understood her better than anyone but he did not understand this; pain and pleasure. Yet he did it anyway, for her. He dragged his fingers through the soft wax and she shivered.

Her body was alight with sensation and the slightest touch made her even slicker between the legs. 

Jon chipped the stiffer bits of wax off of her body – her tits, her belly, her thighs – and covered his mouth over the red marks on her skin.

She squirmed beneath him, her mind going slack under his ministrations. Her eyes closed as sighs of pleasure fell from her lips. 

“This would be easier if you did not wriggle about so much,” he sounded amused.

Anticipation had its merits but she had played long enough and now, she just wanted to be fucked hard.

“Jon I need you to take me,” she groaned.


	29. sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #29: Dealing with children

“Lift your stick,” Mariah snapped. “Don’t be craven. Fight back.”

Brandon wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and rose to his feet. 

He darted forward and she danced back the way her mother once taught her. It was not long before Brandon was on the ground once more. 

Little Brandon was only a boy of eight. Mariah loved him dearly, her quiet little brother, but the blood in her heart burned like winter's ice. 

“Get up,” she said again. 

Brandon gave her a sullen glare. “I yield.”

“Get up and show me your stick,” she said, swatting his knee with her staff. 

“He yielded.” A calm voice called out to her.

Both Mariah and Brandon jumped. Their lady mother, Queen Arya, walked towards them; her thick, brown hair was in a long braid that fell to her waist and her face, that looked so much like Mariah's, was still.

“Mother!” Brandon ran to her and wrapped his arms around her thighs. “Mara’s being mean!” he cried. 

“I can see that,” her grey eyes were kind as she looked down on him. Something told Mariah that kindness would not be extended to her now. 

“Mara go to your chambers. I will speak to you soon,” she said calmly.

Mariah wasn’t fooled. Her lady mother was warm and understanding but when she became this cool, she truly was the Winter Queen.

Mariah obeyed her, trudging to her room like a woman condemned to a gibbet. 

An hour passed before her mother entered her chambers.

“Oh Mara,” her lady mother sighed. “I see the wolf blood has claimed yet another of my children.”

“Father says I’m like you,” Mariah mumbled. 

“True enough,” Mother hopped onto her featherbed, sitting at her side. 

“Your father is in the yard. He is teaching Brandon how to defend himself from attacks such as yours.”

Mariah felt shamed. Brandon was bookish. He preferred reading over swords. She should not have been so unfair. But _everything_ was unfair!

“Are you really marrying me to Moryn Martell?” Mariah felt like crying. 

Mother lifted a brow, “Your father and I have talked about it, that is true. But you are only twelve, little one. And it was just a thought. It needs not be him.”

Mariah did not care who she married. She knew she would have to some day. She only cared that he was kind. She wanted someone to love her like Father loved Mother; who would love her as well as respect her.

“What if my husband tries to hurt me?”

Mother’s eyes turned to ice.

“What are your father’s words?” she asked, briskly.

“Fire and blood,” responded Mariah.

“And what are mine?”

“Winter is coming.”

“Then what do you think we shall rain down on any who would do you harm?”

Mara sighed with relief. It was true. Her parents were fearsome warriors, King and Queen of the North. None would dare harm Mariah of House Stark. Not with their legacy protecting her.


	30. sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #30: Growing old together

Arya gazed upon her reflection in the looking glass. Her hair was lined with grey and there were more lines on her face than were there five years ago. 

Age had crept up on her. 

“You look as beautiful as ever,” she heard a voice from the doorway. 

“I am too old to be flattered, Edrick,” Arya warned. She was old but she was not yet witless. 

He wrinkled his brow in a frown. None of her grandchildren knew how she was able to see without looking and what little her own children knew, they kept secret in their hearts. 

“What is it, Ned?” she asked when he didn’t respond.

“Grandfather is still in the godswood,” was all he said. 

Arya understood. Jon oft lost a sense of time in front of the heart tree, talking to the gods, listening to them respond. Their weirwood brother did not much whisper to anyone but them. 

“I will fetch him, little one,” said Arya. “Run off to your lessons before Maester Samwell has words for you.” 

Before scampering away, Edrick grinned an easy grin that made her feel wistful for her older brother gone, though Ned looked nothing like Robb. 

Arya found Jon sat on a big stone, soft with moss and it brought a smile to her lips.

He sat straight as steel, his hair peppered with white. She still loved him as much as any person could love.

“Jon it’s cold,” she said. “You must come inside where it’s warm.”

 

* * *

 

Jon liked the quiet of the godswood. An old, primal place, dark and still. Shadows covered every step and the gods whispered to him in the voice of a ghost. Yet he found so much peace in this place. 

He was unburdened by duty. His eldest son Brandon was lord in all but name. Jon did what he could but he taught his son everything he needed to know; about winter, wolves, honour – what it meant to be a Stark of Winterfell.

He felt no unease in letting Brandon play the role that was meant for him. All his other children had gone, to husbands, to wives, to holdfasts, to adventures. He and Arya had protected them as long as they could, the saplings they planted had taken root of their own; all they could do now was let them grow.

His wife’s steady words brought him from his thoughts and he smiled. It was a poor blandishment. The godswood was one of the warmest places in the castle. 

He shifted to look at her and she gazed at him with fondness. He knew she worried. Ever since his fall from his horse five years ago, his back pained in spasms. He was still capable of doing much and more on his own but for the moment Jon decided to humour her.

His bones ached as he rose and it took him a moment to stand straight.

Arya smiled, taking his hand in hers, “Come old man. Let's go in.”


End file.
